


The Letter

by Walker_August



Category: Mission: Impossible, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Heartbreak, Reader-Insert, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 00:58:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17033284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walker_August/pseuds/Walker_August
Summary: August Walker x reader set before and after the events of MI Fallout (spoilers!)





	The Letter

The morning was just like any other morning where August had to leave. He was up early, checking through the go bag he always keeps at the foot of the bed, making sure he had everything he needed. You always insisted on him waking you up no matter what time he had to leave, and even though he told you it wasn’t necessary secretly he needed it to, needed to be able to say goodbye to you – just in case. You watch on, sitting up in bed, as he packs a couple more pieces of clothing. The room is silent as you sip the tea he brought you when he woke you up.

“Where is it you’re going today?” you ask, always curious about the destination.

“Germany, first. Then Paris. From there, it’s difficult to say” He’s not supposed to tell you details, but he can’t help it. He likes to take a mental note of your reaction to certain cities, so one day he can take you to the ones you’re most excited about. Even now, when there are other things on his mind, he feels a little warmth in him at the way your face lights up when he says Paris.

And yes, it is exciting to you that he gets to see the world and tell you about at least some of it when he gets home, but you’d rather be with him. Or have him stay. “Are you sure you have to leave?” your voice is quiet, hesitant, and you already know the answer but hope as always that it’ll change. He doesn’t respond, just looks at you apologetically then back at the bag. There’s a flicker of worry across his face, just for a short moment but you catch it, before he zips the bag and comes to sit next to you on the bed. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and then seems to change his mind, leaning forward and kissing you softly instead. When he deepens the kiss and wraps his arms tight around you, you feel a knot form in your stomach and not the good kind. Something’s different; about him, about today. This isn’t the same as the other mornings at all, but you can’t pinpoint why. It feels like a different kind of goodbye.

“I’ll come back to you. I promise” he tells you after he’s pulled away, looking you in the eyes as he does. It’s the same thing he tells you every time and you always believe him, but right now you can’t shake that sense of something being wrong. There’s a steely determination on his face, and something else that you can’t quite read. “I love you” he nearly whispers, kissing you on the forehead and then getting up and grabbing his bag. You get out of bed and watch him from the hallway as he grabs his coat and opens the door.

“I love you too, August” you say, making him turn around to you before he leaves. You smile at him and he offers a small smile back before coming back inside to kiss you one more time before he goes. You hear him lock the door behind him and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. A feeling a sadness washes over you, but you’re used to that by now so you shake it off before heading back to bed.

***

Weeks later, you haven’t heard from him. You knew the mission was going to be a long one but surely he would’ve been able to check in by now. Usually you get a text if it’s been a few weeks, just to tell you he’s OK. But right now it’s radio silence and you’re starting to struggle. The rational side of you tells you that he can’t always update you, his work doesn’t always allow it and that’s fine. But there’s something, a small voice in the back of your head that you can’t completely ignore. And yet you’re not ready to give up hope, holding on to his promise.

You’re just sitting down for breakfast when the letter comes, posted through the letterbox. Your stomach drops when you see it lying on the floor at the front door. It has an official CIA stamp, your name and address written on the front. It’s not August’s handwriting. Picking it up off the floor immediately you stand there in the hallway for several minutes without moving to open it. Unsure if you want to know what’s inside. If he was…dead, you struggle to even think it, wouldn’t they bring his belongings to you too? 

You don’t know how to feel, if the dread building in the pit of your stomach is necessary or an overreaction. It’s just an envelope. Sitting back at the table, where your breakfast is getting now cold, you slowly begin to open it. There’s another envelope inside, and when you pull it out your breath catches because your name on the front of it is clearly written by August. You would know his handwriting anywhere.

Your hands start to shake as you stare at it, and you open this envelope with more care. Inside is a folded sheet of paper which you pull out carefully. It’s a letter, a letter from August. Starting with your name, it reads:

'My hope is that you’ll never have to read this, but I have to write it. If you have this it means I’m not coming home, and I’m so sorry to break my promise, my love.

It’s important that you know that I was trying to make the world a better place. For you and for us. For everyone. I can only hope I succeeded and that you are able to see the world as it should be.

You are my life, my world, my everything. You always were and you always will be, no matter what happens to me.

August.'

That’s it. 100 words to tell you that he’s gone. It’s not enough and it’s too much. You’re numb, it abruptly spreads across your whole body. You don’t even realise that tears are streaming from your eyes until they hit the paper in your shaking hands. In the back of your mind you think you should feel angry but instead there’s nothing. This can’t be real. Is someone trying to trick you?

You scan the words again, getting up on heavy legs to compare the writing to the shopping list he pinned to the fridge the week before he left. You had meant to take it down but you liked the little reminder of him every time you went to the kitchen. You cannot see any tell tale sign of trickery.

Its then that you turn the page and see a code and a note on the other side.

'3740

Use this code to get in to my safe, there’s something in there I need you to have. I wish I had been able to give it to you.'

It’s too specific, it has to be him. The words are uneven here, like he struggled to write it.

You do as the note says, desperately needing whatever it is that August has left for you, some piece of him. You roughly wipe your tears away with the palm of your hand and force your legs to move up the stairs. The safe is in your shared study, where he keeps…kept…files for work occasionally. You wish that your hands would stop shaking as you punch in the code incorrectly several times before getting it right. Forcing yourself to take several deep breaths, you open the door of the safe and view it’s contents. A box and nothing else. A jewellery box.

You’re unmoving for ages, just standing there staring. You can’t understand what’s happening, what you’re doing, why you’re not moving. You want to reach for the box but it’s like your arm won’t follow your command. It takes over an hour for you to finally reach in and pick it up. Your fingers wrap around the small, black, velvet box. Pushing the lid of the box open, you gasp. A small faltering smile plays on your lips for a second. It’s so obviously an engagement ring; understated and elegant, exactly the kind you love and the kind that he would give.

It’s not clear what comes over you, when you reach in to your pocket and pull out your phone. Selecting the second entry of his name in the contacts list, the number he had given you for emergencies when he was on a mission since he didn’t take his personal phone with him. You want to hear his voice, tell him yes, and as the phone rings you keep imagining him picking up. Imagining him telling you everything’s OK and he’ll see you soon. You beg for him to pick up but the phone just rings and rings until it cuts out.

Finally, you begin to sob. You’re certain you just physically felt your heart break in to pieces and it’s a worse pain than any you’ve ever experienced before. He was planning to ask you, he wanted to be with you forever, and now he’s gone. “Dead”. You make yourself say it, forcing yourself to accept that he isn’t going to come home to you now or ever. The grief and pain hit you hard, knocking you down and you sink to the floor, the ring grasped in your hand. In your mind you replay the last moment you saw him again and again. At the same time, you slip the ring on to your ring finger and vow never to take it off. “I love you too, August” you whisper between violent sobs, repeating the last words you spoke to him in to the silence of the house, the light of the sun slowly fading as you try to figure out how to go on from here.


End file.
